


Truth

by lunacosas



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Canon Universe, Confessions, M/M, Potions, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas
Summary: It was supposed to be fun, a forfeit for losing at gwent, but the potion Lambert made actually works...
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #015





	Truth

It was supposed to be fun, to be a game. The challenge Lambert had extended didn’t seem serious, only silly. The potion posed no danger to them, the only risk being perhaps dodgy ingredients or the effects of a mild truth serum. Eskel, having lost at gwent, took the forfeit and submitted to the potion and their questions. Geralt was sure Eskel would have answered them anyway. He had seemed fine, laughing off the possibility of the old recipe working, and joking at Lambert’s potion-making.

Something changed, though. Eskel’s expression had fallen, his laughter withering. He had closed in on himself, becoming quiet, and then made his excuses to turn in for the night, saying he wanted to be alone. Geralt had watched the sudden change, confused, the unease he could read in Eskel suggesting he was afraid of something. The potion was working. What was he afraid of?

Geralt went after him. Lambert seemed oddly sombre, nodding in agreement when Geralt said what he was doing, clearly able to see the same thing Geralt did. He caught up with Eskel in the hallway, calling out to him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Eskel’s expression when he turned to him was torn. He looked devastated, and afraid, his mouth falling open half a heartbeat before he slapped his hand over it.

His unwillingness to answer, and his inability to retain control, were apparent.

“What’s my name?” Geralt hastily asked.

Some of the tension left Eskel’s body, his hand falling away from his mouth with a sigh. “Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt nodded. “I can leave you alone, if you prefer.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Eskel still seemed compelled to answer after several moments anyway. “No. I… I want your company.”

For a moment, Geralt hesitated. Eskel was all but naked, stripped of his ability to protect himself by choosing his own words and lying if he needed to. He never for a moment thought that there would be anything Eskel could say that would upset or bother him, but as he looked at Eskel and saw what he could only name as embarrassment, he wondered if he should be a better person and turn away.

Geralt knew he wasn’t a better person, though. He wanted to be close to Eskel, to selfishly be in his company too, although if he had been the one who lost at gwent and drink the potion he would have done everything in his power to get away from Eskel. There were some secrets it was better to never reveal.

But his own tongue was not loose. He didn’t fear for his secret, only wanted to be around the other Witcher, to savour what he could of Eskel’s company. Winters, however long they may have felt at the time, were too short. Even in all the decades, there was never enough time.

“You know,” Geralt offered as they reached the room Eskel had chosen, “you can ask me anything you like too. Seems only fair. I’ll answer honestly.”

There was a small, barely there tug of a smile at the corner of Eskel’s mouth. The expression was sad, though, the lines on his face deeper than Geralt remembered them being, becoming even more exaggerated when Eskel lit the fire with a flash of igni. Geralt took his seat by the hearth, watching as Eskel went over to the bed.

“Are you tired?” he asked without thinking.

“No.”

Geralt frowned. “Are you sure you still want me here?”

He could hear Eskel’s strained breath. “Yes.”

It seemed wise not to say anything after that without thinking about it first. Nothing that came to mind seemed safe to ask though, so Geralt said nothing, instead watching the flames and adding two more logs as Eskel lay down on top of the thick covers. When Geralt glanced around, Eskel had his back to him. He was curled up, the broad expanse of his back and shoulders seeming cold and distant. Geralt wanted nothing more than to go to him, to close the distance and embrace him warmly.

He turned his attention back to the fire, his heart twisting uncomfortably in his chest when he caught the hitch of Eskel’s breathing.

“The truth hurts,” Eskel said softly, his voice trembling. “I try so hard not to feel it.”

“I know,” Geralt heard himself say. It was far more honest than he wanted to be, too close to the heart, too deep. He bowed his head, thinking about the truth he tried so hard to keep locked away, secret and safe, but at the same time could never let go of because it meant too much to him.

They fell silent again. The logs crackled and shifted in the hearth, Geralt sitting there, staring, Eskel lying on the bed, his breathing close to ragged even as he tried to feign sleep.

It seemed like the only thing to do was leave. There was no point in staying, prying on Eskel at his weakest. Geralt stood slowly, unfurling from the careful position he’d held himself in and crossing to the door. His hand was on the handle, the door halfway open, when Eskel spoke, when Geralt heard the words he never thought he’d ever hear.

“I love you.”

The confession was raw. Eskel’s voice was cracked, and when Geralt turned to look at him, his shoulders were shaking. Curled in on himself, Eskel managed to do something Geralt never thought possible for a man of his size: appear small.

He knew he should go. Eskel hadn’t chosen to say that, not freely. His tongue had been loosened by the potion Lambert brewed. If Geralt were a better man, if he were honest, he would walk away and forget about the confession, pushing it from his mind until Eskel decided to give it of his own accord.

But oh, how he wanted it.

He pushed the door shut, aware of every fibre of his being in a way he’d never been before. His heart didn’t race the way it had done as a teenager when he had seen Eskel’s smile or thought in private about kissing him and so much more, nor did his palms go sweaty the way they’d always done when he’d thought about confessing something to the other teen. Back then he’d been afraid. It had seemed silly. What could Eskel have ever felt for him? What could they ever have together in a life where they would be forced apart if they survived the Trials?

He was still afraid, but now the feeling had no real reason behind it. It was silly, because Eskel had spoken the words Geralt longed to hear. He has spoken them, and they were the truth – they had to be, because the potion saw to that.

They were the truth that Eskel hadn’t wanted him to know. They were something he hadn’t wanted to give. The fear, Geralt realised, was that Eskel might have decided against ever acting upon his feeling for all the same reasons Geralt had. He was taking something he was never meant to have.

He sat at the edge of the bed, aware of Eskel, aware of himself. His hand trembled as he reached out, touching Eskel’s forearm.

“Eskel?”

Always stronger than him in ways no one thought to praise, Eskel turned to look at Geralt. His cheeks were damp, golden eyes filled with pain. Something struck Geralt as he looked at Eskel, at the man who loved him. Without thinking, he leaned in. He acted instinctively, gravitating towards what he wanted most in the world.

The blow to his chest took him by surprise. He was forced back, shoved away as Eskel sat up.

“Don’t,” Eskel hissed. “Don’t… I couldn’t take it. Don’t pity me.”

“Pity?” Geralt echoed. His hand went to his chest, where Eskel’s blow had done more than physically strike him. “I don’t pity you.”

Eskel looked away, a different man from the one Geralt knew. Eskel was always steady, measured in nearly everything he did, good-natured and always ready to laugh. Now he seemed like he was falling apart at the seams.

“I—”

Geralt found himself choking on the words, unable to force them out. He swallowed thickly, looking down as he tried to measure what he wanted to say against the ways he could think to say it. Actions were easier, louder, more effective and efficient. He glanced to his side, to where Eskel sat silently, still trembling.

“I would have said the same thing,” Geralt tried to explain. “If it had been me, if I… the potion.”

He didn’t miss the way Eskel went deathly still, holding his breath. Geralt sighed as he reached out, slipping his fingers into Eskel’s loose hand.

Eskel turned to look at him, eyes wide. “The same thing?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Geralt sighed. The moments stretched out, waiting for him to fill them with the words he needed to say, the truth he knew it was only right to share with Eskel. In the silence their fingers became entwined, locked together for what Geralt hoped would be forever. “There hasn’t been a day since I was fifteen where I didn’t love you.”

The breath left Eskel’s lungs in a rush, a smile lighting up his face. He was at once both as old as his years and young again, the teenager Geralt had fallen in love with the man he intended to spend the rest of his life beside. The truth had been laid bare, terrifying and wonderful, and Geralt was never going to let it go.


End file.
